Of Broom Closets, Kitchen Tables and Dessert
by Geale
Summary: Bill comes out of the broom closet and Draco comes in the kitchen. Bill, however, does not. Works as a standalone sequel to Twenty Days and a Full Moon. There might be a plot somewhere (?) Bill/Draco.


**Summary: **Bill comes out of the broom closet and Draco comes in the kitchen. Bill, however, does not. Works as a standalone sequel to Twenty Days and a Full Moon. There might be a plot somewhere (?)

**Pairing:** Bill/Draco

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **This is not work safe. I repeat: not safe for work. On the other hand, I guess it depends on what you do for a living. This is SLASH.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**Of Broom Closets, Kitchen Tables and Dessert**

**-ooo-**

**Saturday, just after lunch **

**(At The Burrow, in the kitchen.)**

"How exactly do you mean, love?"

Bill stared at his mother. "Well, I _mean, _that I am going out with him."

Her piercing gaze was focused on his face, brown eyes narrowing as she frowned. "Yes... but _how_ do you mean you are going out with him?"

"What do you mean how? I'm going out with him. Like... like Ron's going out with Hermione, or Harry's going out with Ginny. Like that."

"But..." Mrs Weasley finally set down the cup of tea she had been indecisively holding for many long minutes now. "Bill, dear, you were going out with Fleur."

"Mum, I was _married_ to Fleur."

"Yes, I know that, darling. I spent _days_ cooking for your wedding..."

"I know, and I'm grateful for that," said Bill quickly, once again forcing down the irritation that was so intent on clawing its way upwards through his breast. But the fact was that they had been through this before: the whole discussion, from beginning to end.

Well, sort of. They had discussed him and Fleur, at any rate. But they had done it _several times_.

_Keep calm._

Throwing a kettle full of tea across the kitchen never helped anyway, in the long run. And these days it had almost no effect; the werewolf excuse had quickly worn thin in the household of Mrs Weasley. Instead, Bill drew a deep breath and pitched his voice neutral. "But as you know we weren't right for each other, in the end."

"That really was a shame," she said thoughtfully, shaking her head. "Once one had finally started to like her it was hard to stop..."

Bill took another deep breath. A really deep one. "You can still like her, mum."

"Ah, but there is little point in doing that now, isn't there? Now that she is working in Austria she isn't very likely to set her foot in England again. You should have treated her better, William."

"_Everything_ wasn't my fault," protested Bill. If he told himself that often enough, surely he'd start believing it too. "She knew as well as I that it would be difficult."

"If you had let me cut your hair..."

"What does my hair have to do with anything?" Maybe that came out just a little bit too sharp.

Mrs Weasley let out one of those sighs that let anyone within earshot know how deeply disappointed she was. "No woman likes her man to look so unkempt."

"It's a good thing, then, that I'm not seeing a woman," muttered Bill.

"Yes, about that..." his mother said, once again picking up her resigned teacup, "tell me again how exactly you mean."

"What I mean?" He was losing his patience now and it was hard to not raise his voice. "I'm seeing him. He's, well, he's... my boyfriend." Even werewolf hybrids could blush. As his own traitorous body now eagerly demonstrated.

"Your _boyfriend_?" She pronounced the word as though she had never heard it before.

"Yes, mum. My boyfriend." Firm but calm. That was the way to go about it.

"That... boy?"

"He's Ron's age. He's not that young."

"But..." She frowned. She set down her cup (which, Bill was sure, sort of sighed) and leaned forwards, speaking very slowly. "But Bill, dear, you were married to Fleur."

Biting back a bone-wrecking groan, Bill commanded himself to speak calmly. "Yes, I was. Then we were divorced and _then_ I started seeing Draco."

"But _how_?"

"I don't know how! We met at work and realised we liked each other."

"You like him? Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes!"

"Like Ron likes Hermione."

Bill shrugged. "I s'pose." Then quickly amended, "Yes. _Yes_, like that." He would never equate his youngest brother's relationship with Hermione with his own one with Draco, but if such a comparison made it easier for his mother to comprehend, then so be it. Not that Bill had anything against Hermione. He liked her, in fact.

Well, there was that bit of business about the clock, but that was another story. Anyway, they had a few things in common.

They both preferred blokes in bed, for instance.

"But, dearest... You're a boy and so is your brother. Hermione is a girl and so was Fleur... Is still, I believe."

Refraining from the need to point out that these days, Bill was more man than boy, he nodded. His temper made an attempt to flee, he reined it in. He would have liked growl, though.

Satisfied that they were in agreement, his mother continued, "Now, _Draco_... Malfoy... Is not a girl, William."

"I am very well aware of that, mum." If he spoke through clenched teeth it was most certainly not his fault.

"Do you see what I am getting at, at all, dear?"

"Yes, I do."

"Meaning, that you are telling me that you are seeing someone of your own..." she valiantly pressed on, "sex."

"Yes, I am."

The silence dragged out between them for a little while. Eventually, Mrs Weasley sighed. "This comes as quite a surprise."

"I know, mum. I meant to tell you sooner but... I just never got around to it." That was nothing but the absolute truth. Also, he had suspected that the name 'Draco Malfoy' might not go down too well with his parents. Just a hunch. "Listen, I know it's a shock but if you talked a little with him and got to know him, you'd see that he really isn't that bad."

She sat up at little stiffer in her chair, and pressed her lips into a thin line.

"Really, mum, I promise you'll like him."

After what seemed like an age, Mrs Weasley finally turned to the third person seated at the kitchen table. Her eyes were full of suspicion and she spoke tartly. "Mr Malfoy, my son here claims that you are a decent person."

Draco managed a small, self-conscious smile. He even looked shy. Bill was impressed.

Not fooled.

"I will let you be the judge of that, Mrs Weasley," said Draco, in a soft voice. He sounded far more civilised than Bill had done and his courteous attitude was not lost on Mrs Weasley.

Her coolness melted a little but she still managed to look displeased. "I most certainly will be," she said. "You can rest assured."

"Draco made the treacle tart," Bill heard himself blurting out. Two pairs of eyes, widened by surprise, landed on him. "This morning," he finished lamely. Which of course was a lie. Draco barely knew where Bill's kitchen was.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Mrs Weasley managed a curt nod in Draco's direction. It vaguely reminded Bill of how Kreacher the house-elf awkwardly jerked his head at Harry when he disdainfully accepted some command. "I suppose it is a good thing that at least one of you cooks."

Well, Bill had quite successfully boiled rice a few times. And Draco could slice an apple – if his life depended on it. That was what he claimed, anyway. Bill had never seen living proof.

"I am sorry to say that none of my sons have shown any interest in cooking," Mrs Weasley went on, looking rather deflated. "Or baking, for that matter."

"I'm sure that is solely due to _your _excellent cooking, Mrs Weasley" Draco let slide in smoothly. Somehow he did not make it sound like the cheesiest compliment ever. "They would not know how to compete. You know," he added in an almost confidential tone, "William hardly speaks of anything else."

Except when he was telling Draco how good it would feel to Shove. His. Pounding. Cock. Up. His. Tight. Little. Arse. But Bill was fairly sure that such details should most definitely be left out of the conversation for now. Possibly forever.

"I could not very well let my children starve, now, could I?" said Mrs Weasley, with just a dash of secretly (or not so secretly) pleased martyr about her.

"Certainly not!" said Draco. "Or," he favoured Bill with a misty-eyed glance, "I would never have learnt to love."

That was bad, even for Draco, but Bill had to admit it seemed to work on his mother. She took a long, thorough look at Draco before suddenly covering his hand with hers. "You poor thing..." She glanced up at Bill. "I admit this comes as a bit of a surprise, and I expect that your father will have a couple of questions for you, William, but..." nodding bravely, she squeezed Draco's hand, "if you are happy..."

"We are," asserted Bill as Draco smiled dreamily. "Let me reheat that tea for you, Mrs Weasley," he offered, and before she could protest, and with an extraordinarily silly and exuberant flourish of his wand, made her tea steam again.

The new glimmer in her eyes told Bill as plain as words could ever have done, that she was very quickly warming to the prospect of having such a thoughtful and elegant male in the family.

**Saturday, early afternoon**

**(Bill's flat. In front of the fireplace.)**

"The treacle tart!?" spluttered Draco the minute they stumbled out of the fireplace. "She thinks I cook!"

Bill grabbed a fistful of silky black shirt and tugged him close. "Bakes."

Draco glared.

"So? It helped, didn't it?" Bill leaned in, pressing his nose to Draco's neck and inhaling the scent of 'you think _you_ are going home with _me_?' that radiated off his smooth skin.

"William." Draco wormed his way out of his arms. "Your mother thinks I cook. _I _don't _cook."_

"Who cares?"

Draco shook his head before locking eyes with him. "_I _care. Malfoys don't _cook_!"

"Whatever," growled Bill, before lunging forwards and grabbing hold of him again. "We'll sort it out later. _Now_..."

Draco fought him for a bit. There was some pushing and shoving before the younger man would let Bill graze his teeth down his throat and unbuckle his belt.

"I don't see why you bother with so much clothes," muttered Bill as he initiated an attempt to conquer Draco's trousers. "Ties, belts, socks..."

"Underwear?" Draco suggested as he worked his fingers beneath the waistline of Bill's faded black jeans and found the top of his crack. "Unlike others I know?"

"For example," said Bill, with a shiver racing across his skin at Draco's touch. "It's all in the way."

"Right. Because I so often..." he broke off in favour of a hiss as Bill palmed his semi-hard arousal, "find myself doing..." Swallowing, he pushed into the hand.

Grinning, Bill gave his cock an experimental squeeze. "Doing what?" He did not wait for a reply, but captured Draco's mouth with his own instead.

Draco was a good kisser. Actually, he was good at everything that had anything to do with physical interaction. Bill liked that. And he liked the way Draco challenged him and fought him. All of that latter stuff was to be expected (Draco was Draco) but the bit about physical interaction had come as a _very _pleasant surprise.

Now Draco's teeth were colliding with his as the kiss intensified. That was part of the perfection. Bill fisted his hands in Draco's white-blond hair and tugged his head back, abruptly ending the kiss on Draco's hiss of annoyance. "You'll tear my hair out!"

Bill's mouth descended on his throat, seeking his pulse point. "Maybe I like bald."

Draco's snort was a rush of air through his throat. Bill pushed his tongue against the flow of life hidden beneath the smooth, pale skin and resisted the temptation to bite down. It wasn't like he was a _vampire_, after all.

Then a hand snaked its way between their bodies and Draco was suddenly the one palming Bill, teasing his hardening length. "You're wearing jeans, Weasley."

Bill dragged his lips upwards, towards an earlobe, revelling in the shudder in Draco it set off. "What about it?"

"I thought you preferred less clothes."

"I want to hear you say it." He lifted his head and grinned. Draco's naturally pale eyes were narrowed and slightly darkened. His breathing was quick.

"What?"

"Just say it, Draco." Bill caught Draco's wandering hand in his and pressed it more firmly against his crotch. "Say it."

He could see the warring emotions in Draco's eyes and he loved – yes, _loved_ – the way his the younger man's mouth twisted into a grimace. The way resistance almost won. He rubbed Draco's hand against his erection. "Come on," he coaxed in a rough rumble. "Bring it on."

The way resistance _almost _won.

"Fine." Draco's jaw was set. His eyes bore into Bill's and his hand wormed its way out of Bill's grasp. "I want you out of those jeans."

Bill raised an eyebrow.

"I want you naked, Weasley."

Then he did it. In one moment, Draco was encased in that black silk shirt and in the next – Bill later dubbed it the hottest thing he had ever seen – he had torn it apart, shiny black buttons spraying all over the floor. The shirt hung loosely about him, offering a mouthwatering view of creamy smooth skin and finely toned muscle. Draco lifted his chin and tipped his head a little to the side, and almost demurely smiled at him. "Fuck me?"

Well, who was Bill to object?

**Saturday, somewhat later.**

**(Still Bill's flat, but now at the kitchen table. And on it, as it happens.)**

"Merlin!" Draco rolled onto his side, his skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. "I swear tha– _What is that_!?" He jerked away from Bill forcefully.

"What?"

"It _moved_!"

With a heavy hand Bill brushed his hair out of his eyes and pushed himself up into something that might pass for a standing position. "What are you talking about?"

"_That!"_

Squinting at the – honestly – extremely anonymous and – by the looks of it – completely harmless darker patch on the tabletop, Bill briefly wondered if Draco had gone mad. "Draco. It's just something I've spilt some time or other."

"I swear it moved, Weasley." Then his grey eyes widened. "You will _not _tell me that's blood."

Bill could not help it. "All right. I won't tell you it's blood," he smirked.

Draco groaned. He did that on rare occasions. Those were moments worth treasuring.

But nice as he was (the moon was waning) Bill chose not to acknowledge it this time. Instead he reached for Draco's thigh and laid a broad hand across it. "C'mere."

Draco was spent (the evidence was drying on his belly) and as usual some of his arrogance melted away with his release. Well, not that his release technically _melted_ from him, but whatever. Point was, he was easier to deal with post-carnal activities. But now he only glared up at Bill.

"One day, I will wake up somewhere in your flat and find myself rotting. And _then_, I sorely hope, you will regret never having taken the time to clean this place up." He shot the stain on the wood a disgusted look. "Is it food?"

"Could be curry." Bill shrugged.

"Really, Weasl–"

"Bill."

Draco's mouth snapped shut. Something in his eyes flickered. Then he lifted a hand and sank his fingers into the tangle of long ginger hair at the base of Bill's neck.

Bill let himself be pulled down and kissed.

Yeah, they forgot sometimes. No big deal really but after a few rounds of surname-calling it became tiresome.

Draco's tongue slid against his own, softer and less demanding than before – when Draco had urged Bill on, when they had stumbled over the threshold and somehow ended up with Draco on his back on the kitchen table, knees bent and legs drawn up in an – if Bill was any judge - extremely arousing display of take-me-now. So Bill had done just that. The edge of the table still dug into his thighs but Draco's lips were moving against his and his fingertips had found the scars across Bill's cheek. The marks Greyback had clawed into his face had long ago faded into long streaks of milky white but the scar tissue was sensitive. When Draco's fingertips traced them lightly it made Bill shudder and the hairs on his arms stand on end. As far as he knew, no one before Draco had ever even considered touching him like that _there_.

He opened up a little more, curling his tongue against Draco's and feeling the muscle in the younger man's thigh relax. When the kiss ended, Bill dipped his head even lower to nuzzle Draco's ear and try a nibble on his earlobe. Then, when he had Draco perfectly positioned against his lips, he grinned and murmured. "Of course it's blood."

Another groan. Which was nothing less than a complete triumph and Draco dropped his head back. "Fuck you."

Bill, not at all minding the new view of Draco's throat, lightly bruised by now (courtesy of Bill's mouth), flashed him a toothy grin. He trailed a finger down Draco's chest, all the way from the base of his throat to the base of his cock. "Would you like to?"

Draco's head shot back up and his eyes were sharp and clear. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you would like to fuck me. We never really got round to it before."

Draco's grey gaze was piercing. And if Bill was not entirely mistaken, somewhere in it also shimmered just the faintest hint of incredulity. And fear.

"Better to try it now than when the moon is waxing," he continued, offhandedly.

He knew Draco would see the sense in that. Still, the younger man seemed unable to speak. So Bill did what any sensible werewolf [hybrid] would do: he gently parted Draco's legs for him and dragged a finger down his slackened length. And he deliberately made his voice a raspy whisper. Because he could. "Do you want to be inside me Draco?"

He both heard and saw Draco swallow.

Flicking his thumb over the still exposed head of Draco's cock, he smiled when it twitched in response. "Yes or no?"

The moon might be waning but he fancied that he heard Draco's pulse racing through his veins. If he strained to listen, past the slightly-too-quick breathing of his lover, beyond the rush of confused thoughts in his mind, he wondered if he couldn't hear the pulse of the panic and the desire, so intimately intertwined, rising inside Draco. He leaned in and swept his tongue over Draco's lower lip, utterly pleased when the soft flesh instinctively yielded and opened up further.

Then he pulled away, Draco's quick breathing the only sound between them. "Yes or no," he pressed, once more with a brush of his hand along Draco's length. It wakened at his touch, even though Draco himself seemed momentarily paralysed.

Then, in a whisper: "Yes."

"Good."

**Saturday (same), late afternoon**

**(Bill's bed. Grand happenings call for more than a kitchen table, after all.)**

Bill knotted his fingers into the pillow as he listened to Draco's almost calculated breathing. He gave a little shove with his hips into the mattress to urge him on. He was comfortably hard with his legs spread out and Draco sitting between them. They hadn't got much further than that, though.

Well, if one finger up his arse didn't count.

"C'mon, Draco," he coaxed softly. "Add another."

The was a mumble somewhere behind him.

"What?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

Bill twisted his head around to try an catch a glimpse of his lover. Draco's face, flushed, was hovering just on the edge of his vision. Bill thought he could taste his trepidation.

"You won't." Bill gave another push against the mattress. "I've done this to you a hundred times. You never broke."

But when nothing happened he gave up. Almost.

As soon as he attempted to sit, Draco's finger disappeared and he scrambled a little to the side. Bill shot a glance towards his groin. Draco was hard as rock but he evaded Bill's eyes skilfully.

"What's this about?" Bill asked, pitching his voice low and gentle.

Sometimes, he had discovered, softness worked on Draco. To his pleasure this was one of those occasions.

Staring down at the mattress Draco mumbled again, "I don't want to hurt you."

"But you weren't. It was good. You could have gone on."

This time Draco lifted his eyes to him and there was an unknown – to Bill at least – light in them. "I don't want to hurt you, William."

Daring to crawl just a bit closer, Bill reached out and laid a hand on his arm. Draco didn't flinch but he was not entirely at ease either. Bill felt very grown-up and responsible when he asked, "What are we talking about, Draco?"

But there was apparently no answer to be had, not spoken at least, because Draco moved closer, too, and then his mouth was on Bill's. The kiss was sweet. Which was a word Bill seldom used to describe anything that was related to Draco but he could not think of another word for it as it enfolded. And he might be a hybrid but he was not incapable of feeling. In fact, he was feeling very much. Most of it in the vicinity of his heart.

Somewhere towards the end, around the part where their foreheads touched and Bill finished gently nibbling Draco's lower lip, the timid whisper brushed his skin: "Thanks for telling her."

"Sure," Bill croaked. So he was a bit overwhelmed. It was legal.

That was when Draco looked into his eyes and the way they shone should not have been legal at all. "I mean it, William. Thank you."

So Bill kissed him. It was simpler that way.

He did not know exactly how he ended up on his side with his leg slung over Draco's hip (and since he normally was in complete control this ought to have been most unsettling. If he had bothered to think about it.), only that the kissing was still going on when Draco's fingers made a new attempt. This time, also with more success.

Draco worked slowly, stretching and toying with his entrance until all Bill could think about was a hard cock filling him. Preferably Draco's. When it finally happened, that too was a slow and gentle process. With a last kiss, Draco urged him onto his other side and then spooned up behind him. Bill growled deep in his throat when Draco's blunt head nudged his opening, and, when it began pushing inside, knotted his fingers into a corner of the shoved-away duvet.

But Draco didn't seem to be in any particular hurry. Bill was breached slowly and methodically, until he was panting and began pushing back. Then Draco dropped a kiss near his ear and murmured a simple: "No, William."

So Bill didn't. Which didn't mean that the didn't want to.

It was just that sometimes softness worked on him too.

**Saturday evening**

**(Still the bed. Later the living room. Very exciting.)**

_The cage was made of black silk but every time Bill tried to squeeze through the bars a million black buttons came crashing down upon him from somewhere above. They left tiny bruises on his skin that took on the shape of vampires before they melted away. Across the kitchen, his mother was baking treacle tart but kept confusing the ingredients, over and over again adding Draco to a large bowl of syrup. _

"_Tell her, William!" Draco shouted from within the bowl. "Tell her I'm a Malfoy!" _

_But as soon as Bill opened his mouth to speak, his mother's tear-stained face hovered before him and sobbed "No one likes my cooking."_

_And Draco screamed: Tell her! TELL HER, WILLIAM!"_

"William!"

Bill shot up from the bed like a Nimbus 2001. Or would have, if Draco had not been spread out on top of him like a blanket. As it happened, he sort of slid to the side as Bill gasped for air and struggled to sit up.

"What the–"

"_William!"_

Bill's vision cleared and he actually heard Draco's mouth snap shut. The floor was a bit wobbly still as Bill dragged on his jeans and headed for the living room.

There in the fire, his mother's head was rotating carefully as though she was searching for something. Or rather someone, Bill suspected heavily.

"Mum?" His voice was roughened from post-climax sleep. (And quite possibly from growling his throat sore as Draco pushed him into release but he was not about to tell that to his mother.)

"Ah! _There _you are, William! I've been calling you for ages," Mrs Weasley reproached him. The she frowned. "Have you been sleeping in the middle of the day?"

Bill dragged a hand across his face. "It's..." he threw the grandfather clock (Hermione's present for him last Christmas. Apparently she had some issues with his concept of being on time. Bill never knew.) across the room, "almost seven o'clock."

His mother gave a displeased huff but then visibly brightened, the flames dancing around her face eagerly. "And there _you _are, Mr Malfoy!"

Bill turned inelegantly towards the figure that came strolling through the doorway. Draco was immaculately dressed, his black shirt Mended and his pale hair brushed back from his face. He flashed a radiant smile. "Good evening, Mrs Weasley. I'm _so _sorry we kept you waiting in the fire."

She almost tittered.

Bill almost growled. He was a very accomplished growler, after all.

"Oh, don't you worry about that!" She beamed at Draco. Then turned a sour face to her son. "William, I expect you to learn some manners from Mr Malfoy here."

"Oh, do call me Draco, Mrs Weasley," Draco interjected.

Bill would have loved to interject his wand up his lover's pretty behind.

"Very well, then," Mrs Weasley smiled, and Bill could have sworn a tear was forming in her eye. "In that case, _Draco_, you are most welcome to join us all for Sunday dinner tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to bring dessert?" Bill was staring at her as she prattled on, "Of course I normally do all the cooking myself but I thought you might enjoy it. It's such a rare treat to have someone in the family who enjoys baking as much as I do."

It would have been an understatement to say that the general atmosphere in Bill's living room was rather suffocating when she was done.

But Draco – again – was Draco. "That is such an honour, Mrs Weasley," he managed, and sounded quite normal, too. "But I don't want to intrude..."

"Nonsense! You are _most_ welcome, Draco dear. Tomorrow then!" She sent a last soppy smile in his direction and then she was gone with a _pop_.

There was silence while Bill tried to decide what to say. Something about his lover's face made him want to laugh. That was probably a very bad idea.

In the end, Draco solved the problem for him.

"Dessert," he said flatly. "I am to bring dessert."

"I think the point of focus here should be that you have been invited to a family dinner."

"To which I am to bring dessert."

"Well, yes." No point in denying the truth.

"Potter will be there? And Granger, I suppose?"

No point in denying that either. Draco correctly interpreted his silence as confirmation.

"Hm. Of course, there is that bakery in Geneva..."

"What?" Bill frowned.

Draco looked up. "There is a bakery in Geneva," he repeated as if Bill's hearing was not excellent. Which it most certainly was. Hybrid and all. "It's been a while since I was there but the owner knew my father..."

"Wait!" Bill held up his hands. "Don't tell me! Your parents used to serve their guests blueberry tarts with the blueberries singing arias while they were carried in on silver platters!"

Draco's mouth twisted into a sour line.

Bill could feel his own eyes widening. "No... No, no, Draco! No, that's not...!?" His grin threatened to split his face. "By Merlin's fucking every body part, you _had _singing blueberries! Ha!"

When the stubborn silence was all that greeted him, Bill threw his arms out and around Draco. Still laughing he pressed a kiss to Draco's hard lips. "You're completely mental, all you pure-bloods! The whole lot of you!"

Draco twisted in his embrace. "You're just as much pure-blood as I."

"Yes, darling," Bill agreed, messing up Draco's hair on purpose. "But we never once had singing blueberries for dessert."

It was a good sign – a _very_ good sign – when the tension seeped out of Draco and he moulded against Bill's bare chest, wrapping his arms around his waist. "But the platters were not silver."

Chuckling, Bill kissed the top of his head. "All right, gold then."

Draco said nothing.

**The End**


End file.
